La Vérité Vous Affranchira
by Novus
Summary: One of Buffy's predecessors faces a crisis of loyalty and faith in 18th century France.


France  
1763  
  
Jeanne Roullet knelt on the cold stone floor of the old church and  
squeezed her eyes shut. Tears began streaming down her face, but she   
ignored them. Jeanne slowly made the sign of the cross and began the   
sacred Rosary.  
  
"Au nom du Père et du Fils et du Saint-Esprit..."   
  
Her hand sank down to her lap and the tears came more freely. He had   
betrayed her...  
  
Blindly, she groped for her rosary and with shaking hands, began the   
next station, her fingers pressing tightly around the familiar and   
comfortable wooden beads. It soothed her, at least a little.  
  
"Je crois en Dieu, le Père tout-puissant, créateur du ciel et de la   
terre..."  
  
Even as she tried so hard to concentrate and place all her thoughts on  
the Divine, images came unbidden to Jeanne's mind.  
  
A year ago, in her home town of St-Michel-sur-Mer. A week of sleepless  
nights and strange waking dreams that made the sisters whisper behind   
her back. And then his arrival, the handsome man who spoke French with   
such an outrageous accent. That long walk in the convent garden and   
all the things he had told her.   
  
Her destiny. Her God-given calling to strike back against the forces  
of the Devil.  
  
She had believed him, believed him more than she believed in anything  
except the true faith. Vampires and demons? Of course she believed.  
Jeanne was not ignorant. She knew dark things lurked in the shadows, in  
the wild places of the world.   
  
And she was the one who would destroy them, with the grace of God and  
the wisdom of this Council of Watchers. So be it, then!  
  
It had begun that very night.  
  
Three vampires, snarling beasts, driven back to Hell by Jeanne, with  
him at her side. He was always at her side from then on.  
  
"Et en Jésus Christ, son Fils unique, notre Seigneur qui a été conçu   
du Saint-Esprit, est né de la Vierge Marie, a souffert sous Ponce   
Pilate, a été crucifié, est mort et a été enseveli, est descendu aux   
enfers, le troisième jour est ressuscité des morts, est monté aux   
cieux, est assis à la droite de Dieu le Père tout-puissant d'où Il   
viendra juger les vivants et les morts..."  
  
More memories.  
  
Lyons, eight months ago. *Him*, a smile on his face as he   
congratulated her on killing a nest of a dozen vampires in just one  
night. "The Council is very proud... *I* am very proud, my Slayer." A   
smile on his face and then another solid thump with that quarterstaff   
he used so well, and the training continued. No more mention was made  
of the half-whispered sentiment. It wasn't needed.  
  
"Je crois en l'Esprit-Saint, á la sainte Eglise catholique, à la   
communion des saints, à la rémission des péchés, à la résurrection de   
la chair, à la vie éternelle."  
  
The hills north of Marseilles. Jeanne, bleeding and barely conscious   
after a vicious battle with a demon as foul and strong as anything   
she'd yet faced. She had killed it, but it had hurt her and she had  
stumbled and fallen on the path down to the nearest village.   
  
But he was there, at her side. His hands lifted her up and he tended  
her wounds, never leaving her until she was well again.  
  
Jeanne's fingers shifted numbly to the next bead.   
  
"Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton   
règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel."  
  
A month ago. The Council's 'abbey' - how she hated that minor  
blasphemy and his slight smirk whenever she mentioned it - in Paris.   
More training, this time with the rapier. A good weapon, a noble  
weapon, and one that she soon mastered. As always, she had won the   
little duel.  
  
When it was over, leaning forward upon the hilt of the rapier and  
then her breath catching when she saw the strange smile he gave her,  
and then smiling back and trying so hard not to tremble when his hand  
brushed against hers.  
  
"Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain quotidien, et pardonne-nous nos   
offenses, comme nous pardonnons à ceux qui nous ont offensés. Et ne   
nous induis point en tentation, mais délivre-nous du mal."  
  
Three days ago.  
  
"You look ill, Jeanne. Have you been sneaking out to hunt in the snow  
again?"  
  
Dizziness striking before she could answer. Dizziness, grayness,   
blackness, and then waking up...  
  
Jeanne's fingers tightened and she gripped the rosary so hard it almost  
broke. Only at the last second did she catch herself, relax and whisper  
her hope that God would forgive her for that.  
  
And that He would forgive him for what he had done to her. She could  
never do it, God help her.  
  
Waking up in that dusty, boarded-up house and feeling so weak and   
tired. And then hearing a shuffle in the distance and realizing two   
things - that she was not alone in the house and that he had put her  
there.  
  
"Amen!"  
  
The vampire had nearly killed her. She still bore a long, jagged scar   
just under her ribcage and probably would until the end of her days.  
She had just barely managed to destroy it with a wooden plank and   
strength born of desperation and terror. Her fingers still ached with  
the remembered pain of all those splinters, such a contrast with the  
well-worn Rosary beads.  
  
"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâces, le Seigneur est avec vous;   
vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus le fruit de vos   
entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous   
pécheurs, maintenant, et à l'heure de notre mort."  
  
She remembered passing out again when it was over, and waking up to  
see his face hovering over her.  
  
He had smiled - *smiled*, after all he had done - and had the   
arrogance to gasp when she spat in his face. How dare he pretend to be  
hurt, after what he had done to her? Pretending to trust her,   
pretending to be her friend, pretending to love her, and then this...  
  
"Gloire au Pére, au Fils et au Saint-Esprit. Comme Il état au   
commencement, maintenant et toujours pour les siècles des siècles."  
  
The argument had lasted the better part of an hour and ended with them  
both screaming at the top of their lungs, neither listening to the   
other, and then she had slapped him with all her restored strength and  
fled the room. He had called out to her, but Jeanne didn't listen,   
didn't care. He had betrayed her.  
  
"O mon Jésus, pardonne-nous nos péchés, préserve-nous du feu de   
l'enfer et conduis au ciel toutes les petit âmes surtout celles qui   
ont le plus besoin de ta miséricorde."  
  
The next day had passed in a blur. He had left her alone, a wise   
choice considering her rage, and she had begun to plan.   
  
So they had betrayed her. So be it. She was the Slayer, she was the   
Chosen One. They were just her assistants, and she did not need   
assistance any more. She could read, in French and German and Latin   
alike, and she could fight, and that was enough to answer her calling.  
  
She would do it alone.  
  
"Nous vous saluons, Reine, Mere de misericorde, notre vie, notre joie,   
notre esperance, salut. Enfants d'Eve, nous crions vers vous de fond   
de notre exil. Nous soupirons vers vous, gemissant et pleurant dans   
cette vallee de larmes. O vous notre advocate, tournez vers nous vos   
regards misericordieux. Et apres l'exil de cette vie, montrez nous   
Jesus, le fruit beni de vos entrailles, tendre, aimante, douce vierge   
Marie. Priez pour nous, sainte Mere de Dieu. Afin que nous devenions   
dignes des promesses de Jesus Christ."  
  
He had not even stopped her when she stormed out of the 'abbey' with   
her red coat, traveling bag, rapier and the pistol she had never fired  
except in practice with him. He had only stared at her, as if a look  
could make up for what he had done.   
  
The fact that he hadn't even tried to explain himself, or even   
apologize, was almost as painful as the betrayal itself. But Jeanne   
didn't care. She gave him a haughty sneer and turned her back on him.   
Him and his Godforsaken Council.  
  
"O Dieu dont le Fils unique, par sa vie, sa mort et sa resurrection,   
nous a merite, les recompenses du salut eternel, faites que, meditant   
ses mysteres dans le tres saint Rosaire de la bienheureuse Vierge   
Marie, nous mettions a profit les lescons qu'ils contiennent afin   
d'obtenir ce qu'ils nous font esperer. Par la meme Jesus-Christ, votre   
Fils notre Seigneur."  
  
Jeanne was alone now. So be it. She didn't need Sebastian Giles any   
more. She was the Slayer.   
  
-------  
The End  
------- 


End file.
